


a calm sort of drowning

by punkwixes (kitahart)



Series: decaytown dot tumblr dot com [2]
Category: Changeling: The Lost, Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitahart/pseuds/punkwixes
Summary: sunny goes to a party and makes some very bad decisions





	a calm sort of drowning

**Author's Note:**

> yeet

A burst of light, a sharp sound, and you wake up, tearing flowers from your throat with a sharp, choking gasp. 

They grow inwards these days, worming their way past your lips more nights than not, winding long tendrils around your neck. A noose, if you think about it.

You don't, just spit out petals and try to rub the bitter taste off your tongue. The noise is still happening, _jesus god why,_ and you stumble around your room for a few seconds, nearly falling over your sagging mattress in an effort to shut off your phone before you realize that the sound is, in fact, coming from outside your bedroom door.

 _Jesus._ You swing open the door and, yep, it’s Kat, and, _yep,_ she definitely gives you this long, up-and-down, totally-not-judging look, and says, “Oh, were you already pregaming? That’s… fine!”

You lean heavily against the doorknob and squint at her. “What? How did you get inside my house?”

“Oh.” Kat looks away. “Your front door was unlocked, so I just? Opened it, when you didn't answer.”

“Jesus. Okay. Don't do that again.”

“I won't!”

Kat looks crestfallen, so you clear your throat and try to stand up straighter. “‘S there, like, a reason why you broke into my house, or…”

“Oh! Um, some friends from Claiborne are having, like, a get-together thing? And I thought that it might be nice if you came along, got to know some people…?” She does that thing where she trails off and raises her eyebrows at you in the way that’s like, you’d hate the fact that she thinks she can manipulate you like that if it wasn't fucking working.

“How long is this thing gonna last? I’m kinda tired.” Fuck it, you just woke up, okay? Can’t expect everyone to be as energetic as Kat is. 

“Well, it’s, like, 5pm, and we’re probably gonna chill for a few hours? So, if that’s cool with you, I could really use another friend there.”

You close your eyes, rest your head against the cool wood of the door. “God. Fine. Okay.”

“Are you okay?” There’s very real concern in Kat’s voice, and anger spikes in your chest.

“ _Yes._ Christ. I don't need you, or, or – anyone out here worrying about me. I’m fine, it's _fine._ ” You breathe in sharply and feel the world tilt on its axis, colors standing out in sharp relief.

“Okaaay,” Kat says slowly. She takes a step back, and you almost feel like an asshole for it. Her hand reaches up, hovers, but pulls back before it touches you. “Uh – can I? Sorry, it's just, you've sort of got a leaf – here!”

You blink some sort of consent at her and she plucks something from your tangled hair, hands it to you. Sure enough, it's a leaf, green and pitifully small in the palm of your hand.

You crush it.

“Oh, uh, one more thing? It’s, like – it’s college friends! So, maybe, don’t bring the bat?”

Your bat is where it always is, propped up by the corner of your bed, like you’re gonna feel safe anywhere without it. “I’ll bring what I want to,” you snap, and Kat flinches a little.

“Okay, sorry! I’ll – um, I can leave? Or, if you’re –”

“I’ll get ready,” you say, abruptly shutting your door. For a second it's like, what the fuck are you doing? You don't like people, you don't even like _Kat,_ not when she's meddling with your life and trying to pretend she’s not. But then again, there's the probability that you can get her to buy you alcohol again, which would be super fucking cool of her, actually.

You’ve given up on trying to keep your room plant-free, and the roses growing up your walls are starting to take over. Being shitty magic roses without, like, roots, they're in various states of decay, but the freshest ones still make your stomach turn with an overpowering, sickly-sweet odor.

Terry says that you just need to control your emotions, like that's the big problem, like once you're like, _oh yeah, all the fucked-up shit that happened to me actually doesn't matter,_ that'll be the end of that and you can be like – like Susanna Lee, who's just super good at gardening.

“Cool it,” you tell the roses, like they give a shit. No reaction. Like you expected one. 

_Fuck_ Terry, you think, yanking a rose from its stem. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

You turn one of the thorns towards your palm. The sting of pain is bright and sharp but blissfully clear, and the singular drop of blood that beads up is still there, even when you close your eyes and shake your head to clear the clouds from your mind. 

_Still real,_ you think, and then you tear the rest of the roses from the vine.

 

Just because you're dreaming doesn't make it any less real, is the problem. During the day, you're in control, because you _make_ yourself be in control, because if you weren't you would be nothing. Less than nothing, even: a victim.

At night, though, you stand under a full moon, and vines grow up your legs, pinning you to the ground. They worm their way down your throat, petals bursting from your lips as you struggle to breathe, leaves growing in the dark hurt where the hole in your chest lies. They burrow in your eyes and flowers bloom in the empty sockets. Something else living inside your body now, something foreign coiling in your stomach like a snake. Not you. It doesn't belong to you, none of it.

You dream of rending it limb from limb, all of it: this body, the one He made you, and then Him, for good measure, and then every person here who acts like you should get over what happened to you already, and then the entire shitty town you're stuck in. You dream of being satisfied, in a way, of being finally content. 

Here’s the new one, though: Water, and then moonlight, and then the moonlight as seen from below the surface, glimmering beneath the ripples of an undisturbed lake Your body has slipped beneath the water without so much as a sound, tangled in vines that wrap around your wrists, dragging you ever downwards. Down here, where it’s cold and dark and the hungry, desperate part of you is numb, everything is dulled. Down here, someone is screaming, the faint sound muffled by a hand clapped over their mouth, but that’s not you. That girl was never you. 

Is that what you want? Do you want to feel nothing at all? What do you want to feel? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want?

Air bubbles float up to the surface, but you're not desperate for breath. Your chest burns, and you _want,_ but it’s a different sort of wanting. Something more vicious that lives inside of you. This is the calm sort of drowning. 

 

“Sunny?”

You hum a response, pick your head up off the cool glass of the window. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Okay, good, ‘cause we’re here!” Kat’s _looking_ at you again, and you scowl, rubbing your eyes. She’s sitting up front in the passenger seat, and you busy yourself with fumbling with your seatbelt so you don't have to make eye contact.

The bar is hot and loud, and it's only once you step inside that you realize that you don't have an ID. “Kat,” you say, but she's waving to some people across the room. She doesn't even look at you, just flashes a card and says “She's with me,” and you get waved through.

You can feel it, walking through the bar, the way everyone’s eyes are magnetically drawn towards you, lingering longer than is socially acceptable and then _staying there._ Being with Kat doesn’t help, of course – she’s super fucking cute, but this is what it’s like all the time, everywhere you go. Doesn’t fucking matter what you wear, so you dressed to impress tonight, in a bright crop top that shows off the scars on your stomach quite nicely, like, _look, here’s what you're getting, are you happy?_

“Alright, so,” she says as you approach a table that’s already occupied, slipping into the few free seats, “Sunny, you've already met Emily – thanks, Emily!” You nod at the girl who drove you here. She’s dressed more for a sorority party than a bar, but Kat is too. She’d frowned at how much skin you were showing but, like always, didn't comment on it. 

“And this is Jackson, he’s an engineering student…” Kat continues with the introductions for a few minutes, and you zone out for a good four or five individuals, because you are _never_ gonna see these fuckers outside of tonight. She finishes with, “And on the end is Connor, he’s Emily’s boyfriend. Guys, this is Sunny, she’s a friend from town!”

Connor actually reaches across the table to shake your hand. “Nice to meet you, Sunny.”

“Likewise, Conrad.” You squeeze his hand a bit too hard, but the tip to a painful handshake is actually your ragged fingernails digging into his skin. He lets go of your hand with a pained breath.

“It’s Connor, actually.”

“Sure thing, Charles.”

“Ha! Wow! That was a really funny joke, Sunny!” Kat says, just a little too loudly. “Sunny's really good at making jokes!”

“So, ah, are you new in town?” Chuck asks. He’s definitely staring at your chest, and you lean forward to give him a better view. Men are almost so easy to predict that it’s laughable.

“Sort of.” You look at Kat.

“Sunny actually moved here a few months ago, I think?”

“In June.”

“So almost six months, then!”

There’s some brief chatter, discussion of orders, and then Kat gets up to get drinks. The half of the group that got here early are already well on their way to being tipsy, and a girl who could be Emily’s twin sister asks, “What’s with the bat?”

Even sitting on the outside of the table, you feel claustrophobic, and you prop your bat up against your hand, twirl it around for demonstration. “It just looks cool.”

“Do you play baseball, though? My sister’s on the team at Claiborne, and –”

“I don't go to college.” The back of your neck prickles. You feel as if you’re in a cage of some sort, everyone peering at you curiously.

“Oh, so you work? That’s neat!”

“Sunny works at Burger King,” Kat says, returning with drinks. You sip yours experimentally. Less alcohol content than you’d like, but it’ll get you there if you keep drinking all night.

“Not anymore, actually.” You run a finger around the rim of your glass. “Got fired yesterday.”

“What? Why?” Kat’s eyes are wide as she slips into the seat beside you. “Does Terry know?”

“Good question, actually.” You pull out your phone. You’ve got ten missed calls and two voicemails from her, plus more texts than you want to read. “Nope. Not like I care anyways. That uniform sucked ass.”

“Dude, how do you get fired from Burger King?” Colby asks.i

“This guy was staring at my tits.” He at least has the sense to lower his eyes, but Emily speaks up.

“That’s total bullshit! An employer should never fire you because of blatant sexual harassment, that _has_ to be –”

You grin, baring your teeth. “You're misunderstanding me. He was staring at my tits, so I jumped over the counter to fight him.” Cody draws back, eyes wide, as you balance your bat on the ground with one finger.

Kat laughs, a forced, sharp sound. “Yeah, that sure is one way to deal with creepy dudes, right, guys? I mean, I know I’ve always wanted to do that!”

Emily laughs too, but nervously, and then Kat changes the subject to some dumb event that's happening at the college, and you sit there and pick at a scab on your arm and try not to feel the way everyone’s eyes are drilling into your skin. It’s fine. This is normal. This always happens. 

There exists, somewhere out there, a version of you who could enjoy this. Maybe it’s not supposed to hurt this badly. Maybe the open wound in the center of your chest is supposed to close, given – time, space. Things you already have.

The low drone of Kat’s friends talking pitches and turns into a buzzing whine that worms its way through your head. It’s too much, all of it, the walls closing in on you and everyone is _staring_ and you want to –

you want to –

you have to get out of here, you have to _leave –_

And you push your chair away from the table with a screech and mutter something about having to pee and excuse yourself from the group as soon as possible.

 

The floor of the women’s bathroom is damp, cold, and, from your place under the sinks, blissfully quiet. It’s empty for now. There was a lady applying her lipstick in the mirror when you burst through the door, and the way she’d _looked_ at you, the way she’d asked you if you were alright – you’d mumbled something about gutting her with your bat and she’d fled, the open lipstick container clutched in her hand, blood-red and bright.

That’s the kind of thing Terry wouldn't approve or. You can see her now, shaking her head and saying, _Now, Sunny, you know folks don’t take kindly to you sayin’ those kinds of things. Have you tried asking nicely?_

Terry. Fuck. You fumble in your pocket for your phone, draw your knees up to your chest. There’s five new messages since you last checked, each one more angry than the last. The most recent one simply reads,

 

_> Call me._

You sigh, but type up a quick response anyways. Might as _fucking_ well.

> _sorry the job thing didnt work out ill find another one soon or smthn dont worry_

_> im w kat rn_

You aren’t actually inclined to find another job. When Terry demands that you _do something with your days, you got to be productive_ , you’ll _do_ it, probably get hired on the first try ‘cause you’re pretty and all, but – there’s no point to it. Is this going to be it? An endless cycle of days you can’t stand and nights that are worse until, eventually –

There is no eventually. You might as well be stuck like this forever, and of all the things He did to you, that’s the one you can’t forgive.

“Sunny? Are you in here?” The door creaks open, and Kat peeks in. She doesn't see you crouched under the sinks, so you wave a bit, peering out at her.

“Hey.”

“Oh, you're under – Okay! Are you okay?”

If you wanted to be _real_ edgy about it you could be like, _no, everything is awful and I don't know how to fix it_ , but you have some measure of self-awareness, so you just shrug and say, “Yeah, I just got overwhelmed. You know.”

“Yeah, I know! Uh – Why are you on the floor?”

Once, when you were His _(who are you kidding who are you kidding you are and will always be His you belong to Him forever now)_ –

 _Once,_ when you were His, on one of the occasions when He let you walk the gardens, you hid under a bench, your knees tucked to your chin, and when you heard Him coming for you, you’d asked the plants to grow _(they listened to you back then, in the same way that they don't now, in the same way that they grow to suffocate you) –_

You asked the plants to grow around you, and they did, and he didn't find you that night, and he didn't get to touch you, and that is the only way you know what feeling safe is, curled up on the sticky floor in the bathroom of a dirty bar, hugging your knees, like you’re a scared little girl, and not – well.

A scared little girl.

You shrug. “Sometimes you gotta.”

“Sometimes you gotta… be on the floor?” Kat’s face creases in the way it does when she’s, like, confused, but also trying to be understanding at the same time.

“Yeah.”

“Okay! Do – Are you planning on coming back out? I mean, you don't have to! But it’d be nice if you wanted to, ‘cause everyone really likes you! But if you don’t want to, that’s _also_ fine and maybe I can get Emily to drive us back early if you’re not feeling up to it?”

You want nothing more than to curl up and sleep, preferably forever, preferably not on the bathroom floor, but instead you pull yourself up using the lip of the sink. Shrug, try not to make it look like you’re hunching in on yourself. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

“‘Kay!” Kat smiles, but she’s doing that once-over look like, she probably doesn't believe you, and you hate her for it. 

Once the bathroom door clicks shut, you lean over the sink, gripping the sides of the porcelain. There’s blood in the sink.

You gasp and blink a bit, and then it's gone. No familiar red smears on the porcelain, just grimy white tile. Not real. Not you. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ You can’t keep _doing_ this, can’t keep looking – vulnerable, like there’s something soft inside you, something that can be exposed with the right amount of time and effort and affection. That part of you doesn't exist.

 _Maybe He took that too,_ you think as you twist the faucet, running the water as hot as it can go. It scalds your skin, turning it bright red and painful, but you keep the water on, turning your hands back and forth under the stream.

Here’s another dream, then: You split open your skin, and instead of blood, something thick and viscous oozes out, this black sludge that runs through your veins, and you know: this is what is inside of you. This is what you’ve become.

It doesn't even hurt. Why should it?

 

Everything is painfully bright and painfully loud as you exit the bathroom, and this time you _know_ that people really are staring at you because things kinda go quiet for a minute and then resume, and then one guy comes up to you and is like, “Hey, lemme buy you a drink,” and you shrug and say yes, because you left your own drink back on the table and this guy is horny as hell, so it’s a good tradeoff to sip on your drink and let him explain how the stock market works while you draw in Glamour.

Eventually he gets a little handsy, tries to do the thing where he rubs your knee and touches just a _little_ too high, and that’s where you cut it, because you're going home with Kat tonight, and you’re full up on Glamour anyways. You grab his hand and _crush_ it in yours, squeezing hard enough for him to yelp and discover that actually, he’s _really_ into that sort of thing while you escape. 

Colton – Colby – Fuck, the name gag isn't even funny anymore, you just can't remember his real name – approaches you as you try to find a dark corner to stand in, sip your drink alone.

“What do you want,” you say flatly, sizing him up.

“I saw what that guy tried to pull on you,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“That sucked, man. A girl as pretty as you, I’d treat you better.”

The world tilts and spins on its axis again and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the handle of your bat like it’ll help you hold onto reality. Oh, no. No, no, no, you _cannot_ do this. “Listen, uh –”

“It’s Connor.”

“Sure. Not interested.”

He doesn't take the hint, just leans forwards, blocking you in the corner. “Look, just lemme buy you a drink!”

You roll your eyes, draw yourself up to your full height. You’re a good few inches shorter than him, but you force him to back up a step anyways, bringing your bat between the two of you like a barrier. “You’re drunk. You have a girlfriend. Go the fuck _away.”_

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. You let him touch you, so why can’t I just have a kiss?”

And before you can do anything, he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pins you against the wall and kisses you, his breath hot on your neck, and something _burns_ inside you, and you shove the blunt edge of your bat into his stomach with all your might.

He doubles over, coughing, and you follow it up by sweeping his legs out from under him, leaving him curled in on himself on the floor. The bar has quieted somewhat, and people are staring, but _he’s_ also staring, this wild, animalistic fear in his eyes, and –

– and it feels _good._

It’s electric: the way he looks at you like you’re some sort of predator, and the fact that you _feel_ like one in this moment, standing over him. Powerful. You feel powerful, and you love it. 

A little dizzy, head pounding ( _how dare he how dare he how dare he_ ), you pull back to kick him, and –

and –

You can’t. There was – Once –

You can't think about this. You won't let it happen, so you stumble through the bar, turning away from Kat’s shocked face, and shove your way through the front door. Lean against the wall, don't think about blood or chains or the soft, pained noise he’d made when you’d kicked him.

That wasn't your fault. One day, you are going to find Him, and you are going to rend Him limb from limb for making you into _this,_ and it doesn't matter what happens afterwards, because it _wasn't_ your fault. Why should you take responsibility for something you didn't do?

The parking lot in the back of the bar is empty, jagged rocks filling cracks in the asphalt. Sharp little pains spike at your back as you lie down. It’s just pain. It’s real. That’s all you have.

You lie there, listening to the crickets and breathing in the cool night air as time passes. Maybe if you stay here, this will all go away, and you won't have to deal with boys or mirrors ever again. Maybe –

Well.

You’re half-asleep, so it’s not a dream, really, in the proper Changeling sense, but: inside your eyelids, flowers take root in the scars on your stomach, sprouting forth from your flesh all black and wet with blood. He clawed more out of you than memories, and now it’s growing back all twisted, eating you from the inside.

You want to rip it out. You want to let it grow. You _want._

Then: the soft crunch of gravel behind you, and you startle as Kat lowers herself down next to you.

“Hey,” you say, sitting up. Her face is shrouded in the darkness, eyebrows knitted in concentration. You look away. “That could've gone better.”

“Yeah, I guess it could've.” Kat sighs. “I, uh – I tried to smooth things over in there, and I think it’s gonna be okay, but maybe it’s best if you stay out here?"

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Are you okay with that? I can try to –”

You wave her off. “Nah. I’d rather be alone.”

“Oh.”

She shuffles her feet awkwardly, and you shrug. “You can stay. If you don't have better things to do.”

“I should – Well, I need to go back in there and apologize to everyone, I just – I'm really sorry!”

“For what?”

“I should've know that you weren't ready for this kind of thing! It wasn't – I didn't realize how much I was pressuring you to go until, well. Um.”

“I hit your friend’s boyfriend with a baseball bat.”

“Yeah.”

Kat is quiet, and there’s a part of you that wants to fill the silence with anger, like, doesn't she want to know _why_ you did that? Does anyone? Or is it just – easier this way, having a narrative that _works?_

Instead, you shrug, just say, “It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“So, can I get out of here, or…?”

Kat laughs nervously. “I – I should go back in and talk to – Yeah! Don’t worry, we’ll get you home, just – are you good here?”

You flash her your best attempt at a smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’m great.”

Light seeps like blood from the back door as she slips in, shutting it behind her and plunging you into darkness again. It’s quiet now, not even the chirping of crickets to accompany you as weeds grow, tangled out of the gravel, to wrap around your legs. 


End file.
